My September
by Neko Oni
Summary: zabu x haku. oneshot. A crippled Haku watches from the safety of Zabuza's arms as his father, a murderer, dies by lethal injection. AUset in our world.


This is inspired by me watching WAAAY too much CSI, Law and Order, SVU, and Lock Up. Watching a few hours of Law and Order, SVU then a few more of Lock Up all in a row got me wondering what it was like inside a demented, nutcase killer's mind, and this fic is the result.

Originally, I had Zabuza as a psychopathic killer, but that was just TOO cruel, even for me, so I made Haku's father a murderer, and Haku one of his victims. Except Zabuza, who is a top CIA assassin, saves Haku. But poor Haku is injured (crippled), and watches in Zabuza's arms as his father is executed.

SUMMARY: AU A murder attempt by his father leaves Haku crippled. Now, his lover, Zabuza, will see justice served.

WARNINGS: Yaoi. Boi x boi. Swearing. References to rape, murder. Death by lethal injection.

PAIRINGS: Zabuza x Haku

DISCLAIMER: Stands for entire fic. I don't own Naruto, and I'm making no money off of this.

NOTES: POV is that of Haku's father, Baka Shiro (a name I made up).

Haku's about 16 in this, and Zabuza is still 26.

Oh, and Baka is Japanese for idiot, cuz only an idiot would wanna hurt pretty Haku-chan!

One last thing: This is the edited version; the unedited will be appearing on my website, or ya can find it on my livejournal account. User name there is bloodgem

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MY SEPTEMBER

By: Neko Oni

(Haku's father's POV)

Fluffy white clouds floated in a pretty, blue sky. It looked like a nice day, but I couldn't tell past my barred window. Either way, it didn't matter. I would never feel the sun again, or hear birds sing. Hell, I'll never open my eyes again.

My name is Baka Shiro, and I'm sentenced to death. I'm a convicted killer, a murderer, and rapist. And I'm famous for it. My crime was prime-time news, my face hated across the globe. Reporters swarmed at my trial, and my face was front page, headlining newspapers internationally. My bloody legacy will forever haunt the sleepy little suburb, where I snapped, brutally butchering my family. My wife and my pretty little Haku; in that slaughter, in their blood, lies my immortality. And I'm proud of it.

The rape part is solely for Haku. He's my greatest legacy. No matter what I've done to him, he's remained pure and sweet. He was a beautiful, elfin child. Skin so pale, eyes and hair so dark. An ethereal waif; a creature of the moon, of the night. He was mine, to do with as I pleased.

Until that bitch caught me. She was getting older, her looks beginning to fade. That night, she screamed at me, attacked me to save Haku. That night, I slaughtered her in front of Haku. Her blood was all over Haku's bedroom, on me, on him. The memory of her screams is still music to my ears.

No matter what I did to Haku, though, the pain I put him through, he still loved his daddy. He as being a good boy, doing what I told him. His devotion never wavered. When Haku loves, he simply loves. And that strength is where his inner, steel core comes from, though on the outside he's soft and delicate. And pretty, very pretty.

These things I could-would- never admit. But now, my death at hand, I can. I've always known my soul was damned to hell. What a night that was. How I enjoyed myself- and how he cried. I only wish my fun could've lasted longer. I killed my bitch, and I tried to kill my son. But no, obnoxious brat he is, he attacked me, defended himself. That knife, aimed at his heart, severed his spine. At least my death will cause him pain. It's all his fault Daddy's dying. I smirk; small consolation, that.

Yes, I know, only a selfish, cold hearted bastard would take pleasure in a crippled boy's pain. That knife, aimed at his heart, severed Haku's spine. He's been paralyzed from the waist down ever since my capture, trial and sentencing.

"Daddy." I jerked at that soft voice. Speak of the devil! I'd been staring out the tiny excuse of a slit they call a window; I turned. As if my thoughts had conjured him, there sat Haku, even lovelier than I remembered, in his wheelchair. He was pleading with one of the guards. He wore a long, flowing skirt and brown, knitted tank top. His long raven hair hung loose, just past his shoulders, and had a dull sheen under the florescent lighting. Turquoise polish glistened on his nails, and his full, pouty lips were cherry with gloss.

I know how he made it this far; no one could resist my pretty Haku's charms. His slender fingers tightly gripped the wheels on his chair in silent defiance as he pleaded with the guard, who crumpled under that sweet, imploring gaze and trembling lips.

Around the guard, Haku's deep, dark eyes sought mine out. I tried to resist, but he had his mother's eyes. They were a blue-grey, the color of the sky at sea, just before a storm breaks. They rumbled with deep emotion, pulling me in. "Why?" I couldn't hear him, but watched his full lips form the word.

I couldn't take it anymore. I went to the front of my cell. "Because you were a bad, bad boy, Haku. It's your fault Mommy died."

Imagine the person you love the most in the world telling you they hated you. That was the look on Haku's face. His soft, pink lips fell into a little 'O' of surprise. His dark eyes widened. He slumped over, went limp so fast the guard barely caught him before he slipped out of his wheelchair. The guard easily picked him up. Haku was light; he weighed a meager 95 pounds at best. To a big, burly guard who is used to dealing with strong, dangerous men, a crying, crippled boy was nothing.

Tears poured down Haku's face. He wouldn't look at me, and I didn't want him to. I knew his thoughts were on me, how it was his fault I was dying. If he wouldn't have cried, Mommy wouldn't have heard him; she never would have known. I enjoyed his mental torment when I heard a forlorn sob.

"Z-Zabuz-za-s-sam-ma-a." Not Daddy. Not me. He wasn't crying for me, guilty that he's the cause of my death. He's calling for that bastard boyfriend of his to come save him. I know that man, that demon. He's the one who put me in here. We're alike, him and I. We've both touched, savored, Haku's fine, sweet body, yet Haku had chosen that…thing…over his own father.

Another guard left her post to push Haku's empty wheelchair. As the guard carried Haku to the door, his skirt rode up, exposing his limp, shapely legs. By now, the other convicts on Death Row were pressed against the bars, some with arms reaching out, hungrily staring at my beautiful, broken doll.

Many of them had been locked in here for years, rotting and waiting for death, and the only females they ever saw were the tough guards who carried guns. But Haku…he was prettier than any pin up poster. He was young, fresh, seemingly innocent, untouched. His lily white skin entreated their lifeless eyes; they longed to touch him, caress him.

I watched as they carried my son away from this death room, and his soft sobs burned my ears the few remaining hours of my life.

I'm strapped down to a gurney in the middle of a white, circular room. Above this, behind glass panes, are seats so on lookers can watch me die. I wonder if they sold tickets. I'm sure HBO would love to film this; "Live, one night only! Execution of a notorious murderer! Tickets limited! Order now!"

There are two needles, one in each arm. One IV will put me to sleep, the other stop my heart. My body is growing numb, my consciousness slipping. I look around listlessly, waiting for death. The faces above me blur together, save for one.

I should've known Haku would be here, that Zabuza would bring him just to torment me in my final moments. A waterfall of salty tears cascade down Haku's soft cheeks, and he's shaking so badly, it looks as if his frail body will fall apart. "Zabuza-sama." He chokes out, then reaches his arms for a blurred figure.

"Haku…you…little...traitor…" It's hard to move; my lips can barely form the words.

Haku cried hard, barely making a sound. He wasn't one for screaming or loud noises; he was a gentle, quiet spirit. He cried so hard he could barely sit upright. Zabuza, that bastard, took Haku into his arms. He sobbed into Zabuza's shirt, face buried in his neck. Zabuza held him tightly, one hand holding a syringe, which he injected into the weeping, crippled boy.

How ironic; the drug they're using to put me to sleep, they'd also used to sedate Haku. Lifting Haku fully into his arms, Zabuza looked down at me, emotionlessly. His face was tight, demonic eyes smirking. My eyes were growing fuzzy; I could only blearily focus on his face. A demon's face, not my angelic Haku's. No, that demon had taken him away.

He glanced down, most likely at my limp Haku, who would have tear stains on his pale cheeks. I look into his cold, dead eyes and know he's done far more heinous acts than I could even dream of. And the people killing me pay him to. How's that for a twist of irony?

His black eyes burn with hatred when he glares at me. His emotionless mask has slipped. So, not just another day on the job then. Small consolation prize for me. I smirk.

My last earthly sight is that of Haku's limp body, and that demon's burning eyes, as my own slip close and I easily slide into eternity's dark embrace.

The sedated boy was a dead weight in Zabuza's muscular arms. Haku's slight body was limp in an unnatural sleep, bare legs dangling over his arm, gauzy white skirt fluttering with air from the AC vent. His thick, dark lashes barely stirred and he moaned weakly, mind tormented in his drugged sleep.

The drug kept the rest of his body limp, trapped in slumber, mind entombed in a nightmare. His stirring was so slight, no one else would have noticed. But Zabuza did. He shifted Haku higher, pressing his cheek to his chest. Haku felt the strong, steady thumbing of Zabuza's heart, and the moaning stopped, the rhythm soothing him.

The convict Baka Shiro had been declared legally, officially dead fifteen minutes ago. His body was being removed as Zabuza finished his final statement, closing the Shiro case. He leaned against the thick glass, staring dazedly down at the empty gurney. He suppressed a shudder, arms reflexively tightening about Haku.

That easily could've been him. He walked down a similar road once, killed more than Baka Shiro ever had. He brushed his thumb over Haku's cool, soft cheek, gazing at the slender boy. He'd turned off that path, but the possibility scared him. His life could be so cold…so empty…If it wasn't for Haku, his light, his love….Zabuza gripped him tighter.

He couldn't change his past. Nor could he change the future; he wasn't strong enough, his heart was too dead. His soul was even blacker, deader, than Shiro's. But the pretty, frail-looking boy in his arms had a strength greater than his own. Yes, Zabuza was big and powerful, the finest assassin in the world. He was by no means weak. But this thin boy cuddled to his chest was far stronger than he. Gentle Haku, with whispered words and tender touches, gave him the strength to change his future.

Zabuza brushed a stray hair out of Haku's sleeping face. The boy was an emotional mess right now, but he'd heal; he'd be just fine. As for Zabuza, he'd content himself with the fact that Haku's father was dead. It wasn't by Zabuza's own hands, but when he died and went to hell, Zabuza would show Shiro just what happened when you messed with his angel.

OWARI

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Eto…review, please? Onegaii?

And about the whole Haku in a dress thing…well, he DID have a dress on in the anime…and I couldn't help myself. Yes, I know Haku's a boy, but he's just SOO pretty! Oh, and I don't think Haku's weak at all, I just wanted him to be really broken in this fic…


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